Naraku in Modern Times
by Salome Sensei
Summary: Naraku is forced to cope with all the modern-day stresses I dump on him, from ebay to figure skating. Adults only, please.
1. For Rent

Author's Note: This drabble was originally written for the LJ Community _iyficcontest_'s "Jewelry" theme. It took 2nd place.

Salome Wilde 08/08

For Rent

For Rent: Shards of the Shikon Jewel. Used but in excellent condition. Many shapes and sizes. All uniquely customized, including dark power upgrades. Guaranteed to corrupt, increase might, extend life, and resurrect, as relevant. Will not sell, but available on extended lease to right customers.

Terms and Conditions: Obedience to my dark will in all matters. One per customer. Subject to availability and may be revoked without notice. Repossession immediate upon buyer's destruction; may not be bequeathed. Other restrictions may apply. No Priestesses.

Contact: Lord Naraku. Just follow the miasma. Say the password "Shard Me" and one of my offspring will come out to test your mettle. Should you survive the initial meeting, the barrier will be lifted. Note: Demonstrator model on premises; ask to see Kohaku.

Limited Time Special: Bonus infusions of concentrated evil on selected shards.

* * *

Dear Sir:

With humble apologies, we regret that we must pull your ad from next week's issue of the _Feudal Times_. Three days ago at our head office, a sword-wielding hanyou broke down our door and demanded, upon threat of gross bodily injury, to know the address of the customer who placed the ad. When we informed him that this was protected information, he kaze-no-kizu'ed the entire fourth floor. Then, a slayer used her Hiraikotsu to break into the file room, where she, a kitsune, and a miko in an obscenely short kimono rifled through folders and documents that will take us months to reorder. In addition, as they went about their illegal activities, a lecherous monk kept himself busy enough to cause three of our best secretaries to quit on the spot.

We know you have a choice of newspapers and we thank you for having done business with the _Feudal Times_. We hope this does not mean you will cancel your long-running subscription, but we must apologetically refuse to place any ads for you in future.

Sincerely,

Kichiro Yoshiaki, Editor

_Feudal Times_


	2. Ebay Evil

Author's Note: This little drabble was written for the LJ Community "iycaptions" in response Belafantasy's artwork entitled "NarakuandSesshyplushie." You can find the pic at DeviantArt, or just enjoy the story without it. It took first place.

Salome Wilde 09/08

Ebay Evil

Dear Lord Anime-N-More:

After waiting an excessive period of time, especially for one who is accustomed to having his commands obeyed immediately or absorbing the miscreant into his flesh, I find the 12" Sesshoumaru Plushie that I ordered from you on Ebay to be defective and entirely unacceptable.

Anyone who has looked at all at that prancing, effeminate inuyoukai knows that his fur is white not pink. The Lord of the Western Lands may be a ponce, but even he would not match a yellow and violet obi with pink fur. I also note an expression of dismay on the face. Everyone knows Sesshoumaru never has an expression. His face is as blank as Kohaku's mind, for kami's sake! But since dismay is the proper expression for the face of my nemesis when I have him in my clutches, we will let this pass. And yet, where are his swords? I expected to see Tenseiga and Tokijin, but given the presence of two arms, the toy requires a Bakusaiga facsimile at least.

Therefore, if you value your ratings, pathetic Ebay Seller-sama, you will instantly refund the cost of my purchase and offer additional restitution to appease me, perhaps the head of one of your lower vassals. Only such action will satisfy my wrath. Heed me well: you do not wish to pit yourself against my magnificent might, my indomitable spirit, or my infinitely flexible tentacles, pathetic human.

Moreover, if you do not reply quickly, there will be no stopping me from visiting the Feedback page and clicking the "Unsatisfied" button for this purchase, thereby causing you and your business irreparable damage. Even now, I laugh maniacally. Cower in fear and obey my will.

Sincerely Yours,

Lord Naraku (OnigumoNoMore)


	3. The Scroll of Naraku

Salome 09/08

Author's Note: Originally written for the LJ Comm inu-kaidan. Took first place! I'm putting the piece within "Naraku in Modern Times," by imagining **you** the reader finding and reading the Scroll of Naraku **today**. Hope you enjoy the dark humor.

The Scroll of Naraku

Treasured Reader,

Most wisely have you chosen to retrieve and unfurl this unholy scroll. If you are a youkai of some meager worth, perhaps you sensed its dark aura of supremacy. If you are a puny and worthless human, you more likely followed tales of its existence then saw, by its title and the seal of the spider, that it holds the ripe promise of true demonic power. Worry not: no matter your origin, fawning admirer, you do right to take hold of and gingerly open this small masterpiece, for this precious scroll is an unparalleled treasure. Soon you will learn that it has been worth any risk you have taken to attain it. Read on and absorb my omnipotent counsel.

First, be assured that you have indeed discovered the one true Scroll of Naraku. There is no other like unto me, though you may know my story well or have heard only rumors. Allow me to elucidate for those who are ill-informed and remind and invigorate those who know me well. It is fact that I am comprised of the bodies and souls of a thousand lesser demons and the heart of one pathetic, hungering mortal who yielded his existence to become something more, something greater, something worthy of the power he sought. In a word, I am Naraku.

Those who are privileged to read these words are fortunate beyond measure, for you touch my very self through this skin-scroll, comprised as it is of the flesh that my weak yet greedy originator, Onigumo, sloughed as he willingly yielded to the transformative, orgasmic invasion of his body by the demons that now thrive and fester within me. Face yourself anew as you make contact with this part of me, as you caress the dry, textured facade that was once animate—and as frail as you, propitious reader. Relish, too, that this scroll is inked with my very blood, the lifeblood of Naraku, a tainted, simmering stew that surges throughout my glorious, composite self.

What is it you seek, tortured soul? Power, yes, as the scroll promises, but aught else? Naraku knows. You wish to purge yourself of the weakness within that inspires you, even now, to peruse these words with desperate eye and longing heart. Think well, for I will answer your call without fail. Let your fingers trace my words now and envision your limitations fading away until there is nothing left of the failures and foibles of your existence. Let Naraku's power fill you to bursting.

There is so much pleasure in sharing myself here in a document that is, quite literally, myself; in knowing that the simple reading of it will bring not only worship and awe but will share, viscerally and deeply, the magnificence of my depraved conception with you. O precious aspirant, even as you hold this scroll in your pathetic hands—be they human, youkai, or its unlawful hanyou intermarriage—the stain of Onigumo's flesh and Naraku's blood will penetrate your very tissue. Like Onigumo, you loathe your weakness, and so do I. This scroll, therefore, is poisoned, toxic to all who touch it, and in only moments you will find yourself flung deathward, anguishing as your life oozes from you—if you are not already in the throes.

Witness as you die, wretched soul, that as Onigumo fades and Naraku ascends, even my least and disposable parts radiate with immortal might and curse you with unrivaled delight. Die well, greedy creature, knowing that your obliteration comes at the expense of a curiosity I am only too pleased to satisfy.

Eternally,

Lord Naraku


	4. Going for the Gold

Salome Sensei 12/08

Author's Note: Originally written for LJ Comm inu_kaidan's "ice storm" prompt.

Dedication: To Tonya Harding and all who remember her with fondness or groans.

Going for the Gold

Naraku held his breath, looking up at the black screen overhead, waiting. An impatient man and fierce competitor at the best of times, the tension in the arena was so thick now you could cut it with a sharpened bony plate extending from the wrist guard that was both armor and a part of your body. Naraku restrained himself, with the help of a shoulder rub by his capable assistant, Kagura. The sportscasters referred to her as his "coach," but the truth was that Naraku had fired, slaughtered, or absorbed back into his body every coach he had ever had. Now he was going it on his own, with Kagura to lend support as he commanded it. And he was winning.

A hush came over the crowd as at last the scores were flashed 5.9, 5.8. 5.9, 5.7, 5.9, 5.9. Naraku cursed, loudly. He had lost. Again. And this time by only .2 points. He wondered if he preferred it to past years, where he had lost by a greater margin. But damn it, he had worked like a hanyou to pull off that quadruple axle, and he had done it. Here, today, in active competition in Japan's national championship. He clenched his fists and forced his tentacles to behave as he cursed again, this time not only epithets but condemning to hell all of his competitors, their coaches, the media, and every individual now rising from their seats to cheer on the winner—he who would go to the World Championships and then to the Winter Olympics: Sesshoumaru.

Luckily for his career, the microphones were off in his waiting area and all the announcers were pouncing upon the sweating, panting form of Sesshoumaru, white sequined lycra jumpsuit twinkling in the glare of camera flashes all around. The inuyoukai was a media darling, praised for his elegance, his perfect form, his power, and his exceptional beauty. No one else had mastered the sextuple lutz with such grace and ease. He defeated every competitor and maintained his aloofness from the lures of fame and fortune. Hometown fans had delightedly nicknamed him "Ice Storm" for his swift rise to the top of the national figure skating circuit. In every interview, the demon would only say, "Skating is my life" as he was cheered on and patted heartily (and perhaps a bit excessively) by his devoted coach, the former teen prodigy and first openly homosexual professional figure skater, Jakotsu.

Naraku loathed Sesshoumaru, the skater who had dashed his hopes of stardom, dooming him always to be second in the minds and hearts of the fans, who had dubbed him "Flash in the Pan," for his single season of success that had ended in injury caused by an infamous incident with a pair of loose laces.

Kagura stood behind her tempestuous lord, waiting for him to rise and leave the stadium, now nearly empty of patrons. The media had given him a moment on camera, asking how it felt to lose again to Sesshoumaru and whether he would, at last, be giving up figure skating. "Never," he had answered, coolly, restraining his anger with a mighty effort. "After all, I came in second. Should Sesshoumaru, for some reason, be unable to attend the World Championships, I would take his place." There was grudging acknowledgment of this truth and false smiles all around. And then silence.

At last, an uncomfortable Kagura had to speak. "Shall we go?" she asked, quietly, keeping her tone even and holding out the coat to cover her lord's black stretch-velour skating costume with the red spider symbol on the back.

Naraku's response was unexpectedly calm. "Soon, Kagura. I await a…friend."

And even as the words came from his twisted mouth, the pair were greeted by a white-haired hanyou with furry ears and golden eyes like Sesshoumaru. He had written to Naraku, spilling—in nearly illegible script—the long and tedious tale of a bastard child whose elder half-brother had been given all the breaks in life and shared none of it with his sibling. "I was the better athlete, but no, the legitimate heir got the skates, the lessons, the coaches, the spangly outfits. I couldn't even get a snowboard in winter," he blathered. The final paragraph, however, held the promise of worth. The hanyou offered to assist Naraku in attaining the Olympic gold medal he so richly deserved. Naraku had sent him a ticket to attend the national championship this day, and told him that, should he not win the title, to attend him in his booth after everyone else had left. "Ah, Inuyasha, at last we meet," he said, voice as rich as cherry blossom honey.

The hanyou sneered. "The judges must have been bribed," he said in his rough, angry voice.

"You are too kind," Naraku oozed, draping a tentacle gently across the fellow's shoulder. "But let us not dwell on what we cannot change. I want to talk to you, my friend Inuyasha, about a way you can help me." He took a small piece of paper from the pocket of his coat. "Sesshoumaru is at this club with his coach and their coterie of effeminate fans."

"Huh?" the inu gawked.

Naraku sighed and fought to keep his composure. "He's out getting drunk with a bunch of other fags. You wait outside the door, and when he emerges, you hit him hard in the knee with this"—he held up a lead pipe—"and then run like hell." His tentacle pulled Inuyasha in closer. "For your loyalty…" He held up a case full of unmarked bills. He could buy all the snowboards he wanted with that. "Come and collect it as soon as the job is done."

A hard, sharp-fanged smile spread across the hanyou's face and he departed, lead pipe in hand. Naraku, too, smiled, knowing his accomplice would be dead at Kagura's hands long before he would be able to claim his reward.


	5. Inferior Product

Author's Note: This little ficlet was written for IyIssekiwa's "Type" prompt. 250 word limit. Took first prize. WoooO~

**Inferior Product**

Dear Sir,

Enclosed please find the shredded remains your _Doujinshi_, "Die Naraku Die." This manner of inflammatory prose and hasty, derivative art mars my reputation as a terrifying demonic villain, and I will not stand for it. I've worked hard to live up to my name. Ingesting thousands of lesser demons and emerging greater than and in control of the sum of your parts is no small feat. And tentacles, hello? Have you no concept of their horrors? They ooze, they strangle, they regenerate! I'm even using them to type this letter! Take that!

To come straight to the point, so-called artist, accept this missive as the threat to your well-being it is. Cease and desist your slanderous misrepresentation of me as easily dispatched by my pitiful enemies. Halt your poor-quality drawings that make my mouth too big and my eyes too small. I took over Lord Hitomi's body for a reason, fool, and I expect to look every inch the stud I am in any representations of me that others may conjure. Also, stop implying that I'm gay. 'Nuff said.

I like to think of myself as a reasonable super-demon of epic consequence. Hence, I have refrained from simply sending out one of my offspring to destroy you. Nor have I poisoned this page so you die exactly 3 minutes after opening it (giving enough time to read it, repent your wrongdoing for 30 seconds, and then expire in writhing agony). Consider this your only warning.

Sincerely,

Lord Naraku


	6. Buyer Beware

Author's Note: "The Rules" quoted below are from Ellen Fein and Sherry Schneider's book _The Rules_. This was originally written for InuComedyClub's "Breaking Rules" prompt. Placed 2nd. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own _Inuyasha_ or _The Rules_. I would rather own _Inuyasha_ than _The Rules_, which I find condescending and offensive on many levels. Nonetheless or perhaps therefore, it was delightful to subject Naraku to them.

**Buyer Beware**

Naraku gave an emo sigh and opened the book again. "Rule 10: Keep doing the RULES even when things are slow," he chanted aloud. He considered contacting a support group or getting his own Rules coach, but they would just tell him the same thing again. "Rule 7: If he does not call, he is not interested. Period." How many times could he suffer the pain of hearing that? He knew it for truth, but he could not give up trying, hoping, needing. "Oh Sesshoumaru," he whined into the darkness of his Tokyo penthouse.

How expert he was at _some_ of The Rules! _1: Be a creature unlike any other._ Was there any other in existence who could boast more highly of this than Naraku? And he had stalked and trolled the beautiful inuyoukai for many a moon before approaching him, entirely recognizing the validity of Rule 9: _Buyer beware – observe his behavior so you do not end up with Mr. Wrong._ Tall, cruel, and handsome; arbitrary and unpredictable; sadistic with occasional bouts of masochism. What more could a demon ask for?

Yet he knew he had in many ways failed, dreadfully. He had responded to Sesshoumaru's personal ad rather than writing his own, when Rule 6 clearly stated he should himself "place the ad and let men respond to you." And a tear began to trickle from his red eye as he forced himself to recite the most painful of all: "Rule 3: It's a fantasy relationship unless a man asks you out." No matter how he twisted it in his mind, being thrown to the ground and raped anally before he could release his tentacles was not being "asked out." And, given the distance between the Western Lands and his castle, he had also fallen short with Rule 5: _If you are in a long-distance relationship, he must visit you at least three times before you visit him._

In every way, he had broken The Rules. Sesshoumaru would never be his. He threw the book across the room.

Suddenly, the intercom sounded. "Yes?" Naraku answered with a self-pitying sniffle.

"Hey, Naraku, buzz me in," a smooth, emotionless voice purred.

"Sesshoumaru!" Naraku squealed.

"Yeah, I have a date with Kagura. Let her know I'm on the way up."

Naraku sighed and pressed the button. "Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse," he whimpered, sinking to the floor.


	7. Reincarnation's a Bitch

Author's Note: Written for Iyhedonism's "voyeurism" prompt - just for fun. I so adore torturing Naraku.

Warning: THIS STORY IS VERY MA. Don't read it if you're not 18+. And that means don't REVIEW it if you're not 18+ because all it does it make me feel guilty!!

Reincarnation's a Bitch, and I Don't Mean Kikyou

Once a demon with powers so incomparably twisted that they went undreamt of by youkai and mortal alike, he winced visibly at the though of how far he had sunk. Worse even than Onigumo, who at least had wit and determination enough to welcome into himself the horde of lesser demons that created who he once was. Now he was lower than a common garden spider, smashed by a child's shoe. Yet there was one reprieve, one relief in his dreary, worthless twenty-first-century existence: the girls.

Giggling noisily, green skirts swishing above impossibly long, pale thighs, tight white blouses nearly bursting at the buttons with budding breasts, the familiar trio pushed through the doorway. Every weekday they came to him, fresh from their middle-school classes, gossiping about boys, complaining about homework, tittering and jiggling their way to him. _Come to me,_ beckoned Naraku silently. _I have what you need._

He knew what they wanted, these girls who smelled so much like that damned bitch Kagome who had herself smelled too damned much like that bitch Kikyou. Their thick black hair, spilling over supple shoulders. Their bright, keen eyes. Their blushing cheeks as they caught him staring just a little too long.

Gods, he would unleash his cock and fuck each one of them good and rough until they cried out his name and begged him never to stop! He would squeeze and bruise their ripe, juicy tits, bite their tender nipples until they squealed for mercy! He would kiss their mouths raw and bloody!

At last they approached, eager and unashamed, pointing and begging him to feed them, to fulfill their deepest cravings.

Naraku listened with eager ears, nodding encouragingly at his prey's requests. With a dark chuckle he answered them, just as always: "Would you like fries with that?"

~

End Note: I **so** wanted to title this fic "WacDaddy," but it would have given it all away!


	8. Opportunity Knocks

Author's Note: This one is quite different, with a sting in the tail. I'd have to call it cracky darkfic, if I needed a label. Let me know what you think!

**Opportunity Knocks**

Mrs. Higurashi was a consummate professional at patience and indulgence. She had learned it raising two children and caring for her father for all these years. Even when Kagome had returned to the past that one last time and that strange black ooze and all those human bones had spewed out all over her lawn, Mrs. H never lost her composure. She had simply scooped up the noxious mess and moved on. Nothing could throw Mrs. Higurashi.

Thus, it was no surprise to any of the gossipy neighbors when she opted to return to the workforce. Kagome's absence and too much time on her hands: life was slipping by. In only a week she landed a job as saleswoman at the real estate firm of Kotsu, Kotsu, Kotsu, Kotsu, Kotsu, Kotsu and Kotsu. She did wonder that they hired her on the spot, a little too eagerly, given her lack of previous employment and work references. But she knew she could make good.

The Mr. Kotsu who was the head of the firm and told her to call him simply Ban-san, acknowledged they were a new firm in town and needed what they called a "friendly face" for the business. And they had a prestigious client who was very fussy about the new home he wanted. So her job would be an unusual one. Meet the client, carefully assess his needs, and then see what estates in town might suit him.

They were a rather a creepy bunch—especially that fellow "Jack," who obviously hadn't been keen on her hire and even now glared at her through his made-up eyes. Mrs. Higurashi would never understand "that type," but then, Ban-san was probably one too, with that long braid and bright smile as he touched Jack's cheek. Still, he knew how to get his employs to do what he asked. He had definite charisma, she had to admit. In the end, Jack had shrugged and sashayed off to make coffee.

And so she was hired, and given her first job. She was so excited, even though she was rather taken aback when Ban-san called and told her that the client would be coming to her home that day. She puttered and tidied, sent Jii-chan and Souta to the movies to get them out from underfoot, prepared some lovely hors d'oeuvres and the expensive sake, and put on the new red suit she had bought for the occasion. Red was such a powerful color, the salesgirl had told her. She could sell anyone anything in that suit, the young woman enthused. Mrs. Higurashi blushed, and bought it.

Meeting Mr. Onigumo was quite an experience. He pulled up in his limousine, driven by a tiny, ghostly young woman in a pale gray suit wearing mirrored sunglasses. She opened the door and out stepped perhaps the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His flowing black hair didn't look like he was one of ithose/i kind, like that Jack, or even like some wild rock star type that would have scared her off. No, this was more like some male model or romance novel hero from a bygone past. His black suit over his lanky frame was of impeccable cut and his stride was firm and elegant. Even when he briefly stumbled over one of the paving stones in her walkway, her gaze didn't falter. She pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress a tiny feminine giggle as he caught himself and swore under his breath. As he approached the door that she held open for him, his wide smile spread. Behind his obviously designer original sunglasses, he was taking her in, and she both flushed at her awareness and swelled at his attention.

"Won't you please come in, Onigumo-sama," she tittered, using the honorific that Ban-san had encouraged her to, astonished at the schoolgirl pitch of her voice. She would have to get control over it, even if the gentleman's nod seemed to signal his appreciation of her enthusiasm. Apparently he was a Lord of some sort, displaced, seeking the shelter of a new and magnificent abode. And she was certain she would find it for him.

As they nibbled appetizers and discussed his needs, Mrs. Higurashi became aware of Onigumo's malaise, a world-weary discontentment that he hid behind formalities and a smile so dazzling she felt positively weak in the knees. She decided to be brave. Heart hammering in her chest, she lowered her eyes and murmured, "Please pardon my boldness, Onigumo-sama, but…is there something wrong? You have been nothing but polite and direct about the home you wish me to procure for you, and yet there is such sadness in your voice." She blushed furiously and put her hands to her cheeks. "Gracious, I should never have said that. Forgive me. I'm just a foolish woman and—"

Naraku chuckled softly behind his dark glasses. "My dear Mrs. Higurashi, you are not only gracious and lovely but perceptive as well. I cannot be anything but touched by your concern, and truthful in return." He took a deep breath and sighed. "It's just that…well…you look so very much like someone I once knew…especially in that red suit." He leaned forward and took her hand.

Mrs. Higurashi gave a soft "Oh" in reply and bit her lip. He was so charming…and she was so lonely with her husband so long gone and Kagome beyond her reach in a long-ago era.

Naraku kissed her hand and slowly stood, raising her with him. Removing his glasses, the fiery redness of his eyes hit her with physical force. It struck directly between the legs, where she was already warm and wet. She was pinned.

"Why don't you show me your bedroom?" he cooed, voice velvet smooth. "I am certain it has been far too long since your marriage bed has been, shall we say, iproperly/i used?"

As his prey slept, full of his potent seed and already gestating, Naraku slid from the bed and dressed himself. He had thought only to avenge himself upon the mother for her daughter's sins, but he had not realized she would look so very much like the girl, and like Kikyou… He should have known. But no matter. He would flee the city, take the mercenaries with him, and leave no trace. He would be patient, bide his time. Onigumo knew patience. And when Naraku had returned from the beyond to be spewed forth from the well into this modern era, it was Onigumo's patience on which he quickly came to depend.

When his daughter was the ripe young age of his Kikyou when Onigumo first met her, he would return to claim her. And together, they would show the world what evil meant.


	9. New Teacher

Author's Note: Different from most of the others...creepy not cracky. Written for iyissekiwa's "Bell" prompt (250 word limit).  
Warning: Time-stream paradoxes 'n' stuff.

New Teacher

The holiday break had been strange. Kagome had graduated, then gone back down the well and left them…forever. It was a house of mourning, though there were also benefits. Kagome's bedroom was now his—newly painted blue. And everyone was spoiling him. Mom gave him extra portions at dinner and new videogames. Gramps stopped scolding him…mostly.

When the new school year came, Souta was unenthusiastic about another boring semester. As he walked the familiar route, he thought about Inuyasha the grouchy half-dog, sad that he'd never see him again. He also imagined Kagome's exciting life in the Feudal Era—shooting arrows, fighting demons. Lots to do even after they'd defeated Naraku. Geometry and Tennis just couldn't compete.

He sighed as he navigated the hallways until he found his classroom. Putting his books down, he sank into his seat. His classmates were getting reacquainted, talking excitedly about their vacations. He dropped his chin into his hands. He couldn't tell anyone about anything. If only he could escape down the well and have his own adventures! But that wouldn't happen.

The bell rang and the children rose to greet their new teacher. Souta scuffed his feet, head down. He watched shiny black shoes clack across the floor. A low voice cleared its throat. "Good morning, students. I'm Naraku-sensei. I look forward to a productive semester together."

Souta's eyes snapped open. A glint of red flashed in his teacher's eyes.

"Ah, Higurashi-san," Naraku said with a chuckle. "You look just like your sister…"

~


	10. The Lord's Eye Be Upon You

Author's Note: Originally written for the LJ Community InuComedyClub.

Warnings: Ridicule of televangelism...which is like shooting fish in a barrel, honestly.

The Lord's Eye Be Upon You

Reverend Naraku stands at his podium, impeccable in his purple silk suit, slicked black hair tied tightly back, teeth bleached and eyes sparkling. He looks out over the crowd of thousands in the recently-built Shikon Revival Tabernacle in Savannah, Georgia. Instead of a trinity, he celebrates a four-part divinity that includes himself. Tens of thousands flock to his sermons weekly, and perhaps millions watch him on television. They donate their devotion and most of all their money to his cause of bringing the Lord's word to the masses. The diamonds glint upon his fingers; gold sparkles from the furnishings on his altar-stage. He smiles possessively over all. And if there is a glint of red in his gaze? It is surely the reflection of the on-air beacon overhead, signaling the start of his sermon.

"The Lord's eye be upon you!" he shouts, thinking of himself while his audience thinks their own thoughts. "I have a very special message for you today, fellow lovers of the Lord. Today, I shall speak of my humble beginnings. The days before I sprang from the well of despair, from a futile era of my life into the light of grace!"

Awed murmuring ripples through the auditorium as a second and third camera pan for close-ups of faces full of emotion and the need for salvation.

"My friends, I was once a sinner, just like you. Yes, I was. Grotesque and feeble, greedy and lustful for power. I say lustful. I did wrong to those who served me even as I held their very hearts in the palm of my hand! I was low, fellow sinners, low." He bounces on his toes in his patent leather shoes. "I was hell itself."

He retrieves a lavender handkerchief and dabs his moistening forehead. "And I lashed out, lo, as though with tentacles made of sin, to harm to any who dared intervene. But I have learned, my friends, I have learned. And would you like to know what I have learned?"

A horde of affirmative expressions rise in accord.

"I have learned, most loving believers here—and all watching through the magic of television, internet, and podcast—that we are all, in a word, family. And I like to think of myself as your father. I long to be your humble leader and guide. To earn your love as I bring you the word of the Lord. Like the father of the family, I guide and you follow, giving me the generous gifts of your love and devotion, and I offer it up to the Lord. O, let me be your father. Let me be Papa Naraku, who gives you so much more than any fleshly love can provide." He says this last with obvious disdain for the flesh, and turns away a moment as if to wipe tears, smirking triumphantly as he basks in the deafening applause…and the money that will not doubt soon roll in and buy him that castle in Kyoto he's been admiring.


	11. Allez Cuisine!

Author's Note: This absurd crackfic depends on knowing the Japanese TV show Iron Chef. That doesn't mean it's as funny as I think it is. First posted for LJ Comm **Inu-kaidan**'s "Kill-off Challenge." I don't like deathfic, but Naraku does.

Disclaimer: I paraphrase form the English translation of the opening and other voiceover bits. I don't own the rights to it anymore than I do to Inuyasha, but I gleefully borrow for tasteless and inane purposes.

Allez Cuisine!

As mood music begins, the lights come up on a beautiful, spotless stage unlike any other. No humans can be seen, only shining countertops, sconces alight with bright flames, and the portraits of the masters of their craft. A voiceover booms forth…

_Nearly a decade ago, a crossdresser's fantasy became a reality in a form never seen before: Kitchen Stadium, a giant cooking arena. The motivation for mercenary work slaughtering hundreds of men to amass a fortune to create Kitchen Stadium was to encounter new original cuisines which could be called true artistic creations. To realize his dream, he secretly started choosing the top chefs of various styles of cooking, and he named his men the Iron Chefs: the invincible men of culinary skills. Each is known for his cooking style: _

_Iron Chef Hack and Slash is Bankotsu! _

_Iron Chef Sear and Burn is Renkotsu! _

_Iron Chef Iron Skillet is Ginkotsu!_

_Iron Chef Slice and Dice is Suikotsu!_

_Iron Chef Sauces and Aromas is Mukotsu!_

_And Iron Chef Mash and Crush is Kyokotsu!_

_Kitchen Stadium is the arena where Iron Chefs await the challenges of master chefs from around the world. Both the Iron Chef and challenger have one hour to tackle the theme ingredient of the day. Using all their senses, skills, creativity: they are to prepare artistic dishes never tasted before. And if ever a challenger wins over the Iron Chef, he or she will gain the people's ovation and fame forever. Every battle, reputations are on the line in Kitchen Stadium, where master chefs pit their artistic creations against each other. What inspiration will today's challenger bring? And how will the Iron Chef fight back? The heat will be on!_

As the music swells, Chairman Jakotsu saunters forward, pride in his every mincing step. He reaches forward into a bowl of ripe red, yellow, and green peppers decorated with cherry blossoms. He pulls out a blossom, smells it, and puts it in his hair. The camera pans left and the voiceover continues.

_We welcome tonight's panel of judges, both ramen-guzzling gluttons who would not know haute cuisine if they were hit over the head with it: Inuyasha the inuhanyou and Shippo the kitsune._

Polite applause blooms as the two judges wave idiotically to the camera, which slowly pulls back and widens to show the usual parade of dozens of sous-chefs and students of the Chairman's school.

But horrors!

Instead, we see dead bodies everywhere, white uniforms spattered with blood and other unnamable substances. Suddenly, the camera veers to the side of the hall, where a pale creature with flowing, ebony hair and a skin-tight black chef's uniform is cackling madly.

"You think you can get rid of me?" Naraku scoffs. "I should be Head Iron Chef! I made you, Jakotsu! Chairman, my hanyou ass! You dared disqualify me for unhygienic cooking methods because I used my own tentacles to spice up the soup? I am here to avenge myself! I demand to take on the challenger before the TV viewers!"

Floating in gracefully, Lord Chef Sesshoumaru of the Western Lands appears before Naraku, his hand embroidered silver uniform sparkling under the stage lights. "I accept the challenge," he says, in a rich, impassive baritone.

The Chairman scowls. "This is my Stadium and my show!" he whines, pointing in Naraku's direction. "You were supposed to battle against Aniki-chan! And now just look at him! How the hell am I going to find someone to resurrect him at this hour?"

"Get on with the challenge," Inuyasha waves. "We're hungry, and I wanna see if old one-arm Onii can cook any better than he can fight!"

An assistant stage manager whispers a reminder of ratings to Jakotsu and suggests he continue. Clearly flustered, the Chairman stamps his foot for silence in the Stadium. "Fine. We'll do this. But you'll be sorry, spider-bitch," he hisses.

The tank with the special ingredient for the challenge at last rises from a cloud of steam, a beautifully embroidered red cloth tents over a tall, slender object. Jakotsu flamboyantly whips off the cloth to reveal a naked Kouga, pissing a wide arc into a huge golden bowl.

The announcer clears his throat and proclaims: _Today's theme: wolf piss!_

"Allez cuisine!" Jakotsu cries.


	12. Service Sector Vengeance

Author's Note: Thanks to LJ Comm **InuComedyClub** for the fabulous prompt quote: "The man who smiles when things go wrong has thought of someone to blame it on." - Robert Bloch. I'm not sure I do it justice, but it's so fun to torture Naraku in future incarnations!

Service Sector Vengeance

Naraku grunted as he lifted the rolled carpet remnant and carried it to the back of the store. It was musty, cumbersome, and he had just been headed to the break room for coffee. The ease of addiction in this era amazed him, and he was both a coffee and nicotine junkie to the core. He felt the patch pull on his upper arm as he shifted the unwieldy bundle on his shoulder.

Still, at least he was away from the desk for a few minutes. The middle-aged lady customer had whined and groaned about the quality of the carpet she'd bought, denying she'd understood that remnant meant remnant, not pristine top quality full-priced carpet. But he knew better than to argue with customers, and employee rage gave way so easily to apathy in this incarnation.

He watched the customer exit with her wad of cash, smiling as if she'd won the lottery. Like so many shoppers where he had found work after being resurrected—fully grown, penniless, and homeless—only six months before, the lady reminded him far too much of Kagura, may the bitch forever be damned.

Upon her dissolution before the pestilential Sesshoumaru, Kagura had cursed Naraku, and this was the result. He was destroyed by his enemies, then fated by the wind sorceress's dying breath to return to life in the far future, far from home, and far from any hope of power. And yes, customer service for the Home Depot on the south end of Peoria, Illinois was about as far from true power as the former hanyou mastermind could possibly find himself.

Nonetheless, he smiled as he flung the roll onto a stack in the back of the store, imagining it was Kagura's lifeless body. And it wasn't only having the bitch to blame for his current state that fueled his grin. Flinging that carpet let him know his former might was returning, and he knew precisely what he'd do first when he was back to his old demonic self. He'd pull Kagura from his body as he had once before and punish her properly. She'd be forced into labor as a Waffle House waitress or a back alley hooker. Or maybe both.

And as he breathed in the foul air of the break room, he felt that vengeance was increasingly within reach. Why, only the night before, he had awoken from nebulous dreams of swarming clouds raining black Skittles to find he'd exuded a miasma that could not possibly be explained as gas from all that Taco Bell and Mountain Dew. Could tentacles be far behind?


	13. The Fiery Pits of California

Warning: Naraku is a sick pervert. Squicky sex is what he does…when he can get any.

The Fiery Pits of California

It really was amazing how many times one could keep reincarnating in the same era. Naraku never would have believed it if it didn't keep happening. He'd no sooner die in a kitchen fire at the WacDonald's that he accidentally-on-purpose set to get out of a life of flipping burgers and not getting any action with modern schoolgirls, then he'd spring into a new existence, fully adult and conscious of his surroundings, in another part of twenty-first century Japan. He suspected, of course, that it was all about his connection to Onigumo's need to be wherever Kikyou-Kagome was, but truthfully he would rather have died than run into that bitch again. And so far, despite popping up over and over into the same country as her, he'd never seen her. If he had a penchant for schoolgirls in little green skirts with long black hair, well, who didn't?

This time, however, he had at last achieved some distance. The twenty-first century it still was, but this time it was the United States. Sunny California. He rejoiced in his luck. He became a beach bum, learning to surf and beg money from tourists. He slept on piers and under docks, relishing in his ability—at last!—to create aura bubbles around himself that kept cops from seeing him. His tentacles could be extended, too, though they were less thick and powerful than in his glory days. The same was true of his cock. Still, with his lanky tan body, wavy black hair, and athletic ability he had always wanted but never had until now, he was living the high life—inasmuch as this era and culture could provide it.

And then Hollywood came calling.

He'd watched enough television in recent incarnations to understand the risks of being on reality shows. More often than not, people were made to look like the idiots they were. But he was Naraku. And in this manifestation, he was almost as hot as he was back in the Feudal era. So why should he say no when the producers of America's Top Buff Surfer Dude came calling?

Through the purposeless and senseless trials he went, from the episode where RuPaul made all the surfers over in drag and they had to surf in bikinis to the truly mortifying pie-eating-contest-then-surf-til-you-puke contest, in which he had turned greener than Jaken before millions of viewers. He placed a mortifying fifth out of eight in the end and didn't even get any chicks. The other contestants called him creepy, and watching the final show on the air, he had to admit he was. Damn it. Could anything save this promising incarnation?

At last, opportunity knocked…loudly. In a lonely dive, he met and fucked a divorcée with a bad facelift who happened to be a washed-up film producer. And she liked both tentacles and scat. She clung to him like a barnacle, insisting he move into her Palos Verdes beach house. Naraku agreed, and began to plan subtle hints about how perfect he'd be for her comeback as a producer. He pitched a superhero film to make Spiderman look like the pathetic dork he was.

When the hints seemed to miss her mojito-addled brain, he pressed harder. He told her his entire story of hanyou magnificence and power (skipping, of course, all the failed and aborted incarnations into everything from Home Depot employee to elementary school teacher) and went for the gold: "And we call it, are you ready? Naraku: One Hell of a Demon."

"I don't get it," said the bitch, polishing off another drink.

"What do you mean you don't get it!" Naraku snarled. "Naraku, hell, hell, Naraku. It's like _double entendre_! It's brilliant!"

"Too Japanese," she said with a wave of her designer nails. "Like Godzilla." She giggled at the thought, like the schoolgirl she so very much wasn't. "Now how about some piss play for your hot bitch?"

Naraku sighed. Another failed incarnation. Ah well, he thought as he looked down over his washboard abs and whipped out his aggravatingly small dick, he could always wait until she passed out then stab her a dozen times with a kitchen knife and down a bottle of her pills after. At least he'd make tabloid headlines on his way out.


	14. A Crack Whore Mama's Revenge

**A Crack Whore Mama's Revenge**

Nara groaned as the phone rang. She had no intention of answering it because there couldn't be anyone calling that she'd want to talk to. Bill collector #804, landlord demanding back rent, or some telemarketer who only served to remind her of the starkness of her poverty. It wouldn't be Tetsuo, he never called anymore; he just showed up and wrecked havoc then left again, often for months at a time. Tetsuo, her adopted stepson: now the most dangerous pimp and drug dealer in the slums. How quickly he'd changed.

She'd taken the sobbing, twelve-year-old wretch from the arms of his dying mother Hana, a crack whore like Nara who'd been shot by Tetsuo's filthy pimp of a father for holding back earnings. Even though her life was as doomed as Hana's, Nara was determined do right by the boy. He was young and beautiful and a quick learner. But then, what had she to teach him to compare with the allure of the streets for a boy? Tetsuo quickly became his father's little shadow, mimicking all the excesses he saw with relish. By sixteen, it was clear there was nothing Nara could do to save him, so she gave up and simply tried to survive.

At eighteen, Tetsuo sealed his fate when he killed his father and became an even greater force to be reckoned with, a more vicious sadist and soon an addict. He stole from and raped all his girls, including Nara at gunpoint, demanding his "Mama" service his debauched needs or pay for it with her life.

Nara wondered how she found the will to go on. She was in debt up to her sagging tits, her mind and body ravaged beyond repair. At least she'd kicked the drugs, though. No way was she going down that route to hell, in this incarnation or any other. Mindless addiction where she wound up being banged until she came to, bleeding on a bare mattress by a boy she once considered a son for another fix? No, thank you.

Determination she found somewhere, but self-awareness grew more slowly, beginning with a feeling of displacement that wasn't about withdrawal. "I don't belong here," she'd find herself saying, looking at the dark circles under her almond eyes in the corroded bathroom mirror. Her irises glinted like blood in the dim light. "This isn't me," she'd whisper icily, staring at the blue veins in her hands or rubbing her chapped nipples with lotion in her unheated room.

Then, one moonless night, true consciousness burst in, as it did every time Naraku was reborn, sooner or later. Damned to eternal reincarnation, the more lives he lived, the longer it took for him to regain his sense of self, to remember who he was, what he was. He clenched and unclenched his woman's hands, disgusted at the chipped black-violet polish over ragged fingernails. "How can I have sunk to this?" he grumbled. "Worse than Onigumo ever was." Self-disgust overwhelmed him and he vomited whiskey and bile.

When Tetsuo stumbled drunkenly into the apartment that night, Naraku smelled him coming and was ready for him. The too-pretty pale teen easily breached the door because he'd broken the rusty deadbolt with a sloppy kick a week before when Nara had tried to lock him out. But now Naraku welcomed him with open arms.

"Come to Mama," purred Naraku in an unearthly voice, skewering Tetsuo's belly with a blunt, plunging tentacle and yanking him to her breast. As he gasped and coughed blood, slimy black appendages shot forth from Naraku's back and forced themselves around waist and shoulders, down throat, through trousers, and sharply up unprepared anus. "Let me show you the truth only a mother knows," Naraku cooed as s/he began to absorb the boy into her bubbling, amorphous body. He burbled and wilted and succumbed. Naraku laughed low as he easily assumed Tetsuo's lithe young form.

Time to make this incarnation count.


	15. Wretch

Author's Note: If you've read this collection up to this point, there's no need of warnings…but the pairing may surprise (and will be featured in the next entry, too). Also, the silly introductory crossover moment will introduce a character obvious to _Death Note_ fans, but knowing who Misa Misa is will be unnecessary to enjoying the bigger pleasure at the IY heart of the story. The Feudal era section was originally written for LJ comm InuRomp's "crack" prompt.

**Wretch**

"May…may I have your autograph?" stuttered Naraku, wiping his hands on his server's apron then holding out pen and his order pad, hands shaking.

The blond model with her black shiny patent leather stilettos, her bouncy blonde pigtails and black-and-red laced corset dress quickly sized him up like the nothing he was, then turned on a smile that lit up the whole restaurant. "Hold it boys," she told her hangers-on, a group of ass-kissing PR men and women and a shaved-headed assistant in a tiger-skin catsuit holding the leash of a poodle (dyed red). "And what's your name?" she giggled, cocking her pretty head.

"N-N-Naraku," he stammered.

"Oooh, how _scene_!" squealed Misa Misa, and signed then handed back the little tablet and pen.

He fumbled and the pen dropped between them. He quickly got to his knees. And that was when he saw them. Those toes. Cherry-red nails on a pale and dainty foot. He was transported back instantly and irrevocably to his first incarnation, a dozen lifetimes ago…

"Rarely have I encountered a creature so debased and impure," sneered the Lady of the West. "My mate consorted with dragons and bedded a mortal to produce a tainted little pup of an offspring, and yet you, depraved and oozing monstrosity, outfoul even that dubious display." She waved an elegant hand to command audience from a servant, a tiny shaved-headed child with pointed, hairless, cat-like ears. The precious little youkai was naked but for a tiny fundoshi that left the question of its gender a mystery to all except its mistress, which was exactly how she liked it. She handed over her delicate china tea bowl for refilling. A twin of the first servant came forward to pit the Lady another ripe cherry.

Behind her golden throne, two other little youkai danced attendance, brushing her long silver-white tresses and dressing them with silken bows of red and yellow. These, also, were twins, though they had hair that was yellow like the sun with eyes to match and black stripes on their tanned, nearly naked forms. They giggled as they worked and the sound pleased the Lady in its perfection, like tiny bells.

"Wretch," she continued, pointing at the beast before her with a sharp claw, "see the beauty around me, the precious youkai, full-blooded and clean. This Lady wonders how you dare show your foulness here, time after time. I should summon my son to end your worthless existence…"

Naraku's eyes flared crimson and he lifted his head to reply, to vent to the fury in his soul at the excesses of this arrogant tart. She would pay for her insolence.

"Who told you to stop sucking on my toes?" she snapped.

Naraku gasped and returned to his labors, laving and suckling the delicacy before him and groaning with desire.


	16. Lady Poison

Author's Note: In 2011, Naraku sees a familiar face on television. More reincarnated SessMama action for a new favorite OTP. Originally written for Inucomedyclub's "AU" prompt, and won!

**Lady Poison**

Extra butter movie style was the only popcorn Naraku ate. That low-fat stuff? What was the point. Might as well put salt on packing peanuts. And weren't they made of corn now, anyway? Biodegradable everything nowadays. Well, he was the original "biodegradable," wasn't he?

It hadn't been long that he'd come to himself in this incarnation, not long since Lucas James Gray—son of an abusive lay preacher, sullen loner, and night janitor at the Jesus Oasis Evangelical Church in Lebanon, Tennessee—woke one morning knowing once again, that he had reincarnated into a hellish failure of a life across the world and the ages from the once glory days as Naraku, Lord Demon of an illustrious era of gods and monsters.

He crunched the greasy popcorn and licked his dirty fingers, then took up the remote and channel surfed. Soon, he'd have to go sweep and clean beneath the pews for kid's gum and crumpled papers. No respect for majesty, these so-called religious folk. But he needed the money in this absurd era.

Suddenly, he stopped clicking as his eyes beheld a most unexpected sight. An elegant, leggy model type with long, silver-white hair cascading down shoulders and a tight shimmery dress, making her way down a catwalk with exaggerated hip sway and lips so ripe and ruby red he could not help but want to take a bite out of them. Her eyes sparkled with blue shadow and rhinestones. She walked in shoes that were impossible, pencil-thin stilts, and yet she strutted with such elegance and regal demeanor he could not look away. When she paused at the end of the runway and struck a pose for the judges of whatever pathetic reality show this obviously was, he was certain it was her. It could be no one else: the Lady of the West, that irresistible bitch. He licked his lips, remembering the past, their dalliances, the first time he suckled her delicate toes.

He turned up the sound, for she filled the screen, and was now standing in a group with four or five other excessively painted hussies, but she was heads and shoulders above them, a goddess among dregs. A voice offscreen, purring like a clawed kitten, was saying, "Lady Poison, you are the winner of this challenge." The Lady gently inclined her head and let enormous eyelashes sweep down over cheeks rouged in lavender as she murmured a falsely humble, "Thank you." Oh yes, it was no one but she.

He glanced at the corner of the screen to see he was watching some channel called "Logo." He snagged cable tv with an illegal black box, and relished the transgression as a way of defying his hell-and-brimstone father, though since his coming to self-awareness, it was just a pastime until he could regain power. He had thought to become a preacher himself and let others throw money at him as he told them of a doom he would love to bring on their unworthy heads singlehandedly. But now?

Now the only question now was how to attain the Lady's favor in this incarnation. Did she know who she was? The soubriquet "Lady Poison" suggested so, but then, where was the power in being a mere pretty woman on a catwalk? He watched her turn and walk away, the sway of her hips unlike her former proud self, but still so very obviously her. He would get to her, somehow, for here she was, so close and yet so far, the only woman at whose feet the mighty Naraku had ever served—or wished to serve. Even Onigumo did not worship Kikyou as he had come secretly to pursue the favor of the elusive Lady of the West. He grinned to himself, remembering: Kagura and Kanna had not known of her, nor Hakudoshi or Byakuya. It was his glorious secret, all the more exciting for its forbidden nature.

He could not rest until he brought her to herself and came to reign at her side…or at least at her beautiful, succulent feet. He waited for the commercial break to begin his pursuit by learning the name of this ridiculous little program: "RuPaul's Drag Race: Season Three" whatever the hell that meant. In any case, it was time to pack his bags and head to Hollywood. "Lady Poison," he murmured, rubbing his oily hands together as he sprouted even oilier tentacles, "here comes Naraku."


	17. Rejection Letter

Author's Note: Ah metafic, how I love thee. Written for Issekiwa's "Grant" prompt. Placed first ~ wheeee!

**Rejection Letter on Behalf of the Grant Evaluation Committee of the Tokyo Global Health Institute**

Dear Dr. Naraku:

On behalf of the Grant Evaluation Committee of the Tokyo Global Health Institute, I regret to inform you that we are unable to fund your application. We can only sponsor a small number of the many worthy requests we receive for our Genius Endowments, so our rejection of your application should not be taken as criticism of your project or application.

This established, we felt in your particular case the necessity of further comment. Your credentials are quite impressive, especially how quickly you were able to climb the ladder of academic excellence, and with such a superlative record of research success. Your letters of reference are impeccable, as is your thorough and precise completion of our detailed application form.

What the Committee found troubling was the project itself. As far as we can tell, you seek to grow additional appendages ("tentacles") upon your own body and project a toxic "miasma" therefrom. Though you explain the research in compelling terms and with a curriculum vitae that impressed all of us without exception, we are not certain we overstep in interpreting your application as nothing other than a plan to singlehandedly take over the world.

If you intend to reapply to the Institute, we respectfully request you clearly and directly establish that our interpretation of your objectives is in error.

With best wishes for your future endeavors, we thank you again for your interest in the Japanese Health Institute.

Sincerely Yours,

Taisho, I., M.D., Ph.D.  
Chair, Grant Evaluation Committee


	18. The Love Letters of Naraku I

Auhor's Note: For Livejournal Community **InuRomp**, I am writing 15 perfect drabbles (i.e. 100 words each) with the premise of Naraku's "love letters" to The Lady of the West (a.k.a. SessMama), based on the titles of Broadway hits (the prompts given for InuRomp's "Merry Melodies" summer challenge). Ratings vary from T to MA. I will post them in groups here.

**The Love Letters of Naraku**

**The Love Letters of Naraku: Preface** (prompt: "Tradition")

Dear Reader,

You are about to embark upon a journey both wondrous and terrible. You will witness herein a love so far from traditional it can scarcely be named "love," and yet it is in its way strangely familiar, as common as heartache and as inevitable as heartbreak. The following pages share never before published translations of the ancient "love letters" of Naraku, written to the great dog demon known only as The Lady of the West. In these strange epistles, history and fantasy come to life, in all its troubling glory. May you find your reader's voyage rewarding.

N.

**The Love Letters of Naraku #1** (prompt: "Seasons of Love")

How can it be that I feel so much and so little? I experience neither the chill of winter nor the heat of summer. I ignore the world where buds become blossom and autumn leaves fall. The external world is a mirage, a miasma. Yet, my tentacles tingle, my blood boils, and I dream of kneeling at your high-arched feet. O powerful Lady of the West, my need hums through every sinew and orifice. I long to burst from the shell of this human skin and show you my true, oozing splendor. Let me overwhelm you with my terrible magnificence.

**The Love Letters of Naraku #2** (prompt: "It Sucks To Be Me")

I am he, the great demon who swallowed a thousand lesser demons, the master of darkness. I am terror and horror, nightmare and death. Yet, I am brought low by your magnificence, Lady. See! I beat my chest and flay my flesh with tentacle and claw, loathing how your sinister light broke through the wall of my self-sufficiency and contempt. Onigumo once loved the worthless Kikyou, but this is not love. This is a terrible power of its own. You shine, bright as the Jewel, and I am made to see myself as a wretched pretender in your long shadow.

**The Love Letters of Naraku #3** (prompt: "Take Me Or Leave Me")

How you torture me, Lady! At last I gain audience, yielding my pride and bowing at your feet. I am power personified, gnarled to the core with those thousand beasts who clamor within me for ever more power. But before you, I am humbled. Yours is an aura I cannot match. Great dog goddess, let me learn! Let me worship at the ice of your disdain! Let me glory in your sneer and the toss of your silk-silver hair! Do not mock my pursuit, glorious one. Do not torture me. Let me but kiss that foot and know myself anew.

**The Love Letters of Naraku #4** (prompt: "What Is This Feeling?")

My bowels are aflame with resentment against what my black heart knows. I have labored in past to rid myself of the treacherous organ that simmers with Onigumo's failure and need. But now I cannot be so rash. I am grateful I need not name precisely what it is I feel when you suffer my presence, Lady. It scorches all that I am and would be, a searing of soul and body. O queen of derision, your mockery moves me to hardness. Your loathing of weakness makes me drip with pleasure. Could two beings not be better suited than we?

**The Love Letters of Naraku #5** (prompt: "I'll Cover You")

You do not permit familiarity, Lady, as suits your pristine viciousness. Know, despite this, that if you allowed I would blanket you in the miasma of my esteem and the oil of my tentacles. I see the wrong your ignorant lord has done you each time I look upon the bastard Inuyasha, and I seethe with need to right that wrong in your name, to cover your wounded pride with my supple body and devoted soul. Though I champion greed and voracity, were I yours I would be humble. I would lie contented, licking your pale toes with generous tongue.


	19. The Love Letters of Naraku II

Author's Note: Continuing **The Love Letters of Naraku**...

**The Love Letters of Naraku #6** (prompt: "The Internet Is For Porn")

Each era has its wonders, its horrors. Lady, I am both, live at once in many times. I have learned to harness the power of the tiny jewel shards to follow the pathetic miko into the present, to seat myself in the modern world and await your summons from the past. I lie abed in filthy motels, lazy and longing. Can you blame me for taking advantage of what succor I find? Laptop warm on my taut, flat abdomen, I search and wander, click and browse. Beauties appear like a virus, spreading themselves for my gaze. None, Lady, are you.

**The Love Letters of Naraku #7** (prompt: "I Feel Pretty")

I have stolen what I can, since you offer nothing freely. Freely given would be too free for such a demon as you, Lady, and yet I am too awed to attempt claim and risk your censure. Sooner or later, I will worm my many-tentacled path into your heart. If I doubted this, my existence would rot. And yet I bloom. Kagura has retrieved a discarded garment, a kimono no longer in favor. And I have wrapped myself in it, cloaked myself in your feminine perfection, your poison grace. Just for a moment, I feel as light as air. Yours.

**The Love Letters of Naraku #8 **(prompt: "Till There Was You")

Once, in a past as little belonging to me as the visage of a handsome Lord, I loved another. Such an absurd word for affections belonging to the blot I once was—that disgustingly frail Onigumo—but I thought it appropriate then. I would slaughter a thousand-thousand Kikyous and lay them at your feet to earn but a single grin from your wicked lips. Lady, you reduce me to such delicious, liquid wretchedness. I pump forth miasma, slime, and seed in your name. Someday, you will look upon me. I know it. Life was mere subsistence till there was you.

**The Love Letters of Naraku #9** (prompt: "It Only Takes a Moment")

I have lost control, Lady. No one will know it but you, this foul, unintended offering of myself. I harden, swell, come—without a single touch, without awareness until I am beyond remedy. This need for you grows wild. I am nature's weed. I would not soil you with my excess, though you summon it forth in milky abundance by your very existence! I will hide it from you, groveling on my belly, just to reach you. I will punish the weakness of my body by any torture that would please you. Only look upon me for this one moment.


	20. The Love Letters of Naraku III

Author's Note: Concluding **The Love Letters of Naraku**.

Warning: Love Letter #12 is graphic: tentacles, blood.

**The Love Letters of Naraku #10** (prompt: "Winner Takes It All")

Lady, I grow hungry and impatient. I am unworthy of your attentions, and yet I aspire to them. I crave, and I grow bold enough to be certain I can satisfy your longing. Your mate finds succor in the arms of lesser mortals, and I know deep in my dark soul that it is you who sent him away. He served his purpose, gave his seed. But he does not move you, could never claim your heart. He has lost you, and I desire to be his triumphant successor. I have lost my humility: I would win you, my Lady.

**The Love Letters of Naraku #11 **(prompt: "Now There Is No Choice")

I have come too far to stop. I have confessed too fervently, drunk too deeply of your radiant perfection. I am drunk with need and there is no other choice but to drink on, no other direction but forward. Do not reject me; do not mistake me for less than I am. I am Naraku, hell's own babe, eager to suckle at your pale breast. Let me show you true devotion. Know I will not rest until you see me, Lady, until you grant me your potent, toxic gaze. Look upon me: I am he that will remake life anew.

**The Love Letters of Naraku #12 **(prompt: "Can You Feel the Love Tonight")

My cock is thick in my fist, claws raking sensitive skin. I penetrate myself with hungry tentacles, ass and mouth filled to aching. Stifled, torn, bloody: see what you have made of me! Alone and aching, what else can I do but bring exquisite torture and hope my muffled cries will reach you. I feel the impending release in every nerve and fiber, every ounce of me belonging to you. And when at last I burst into my own hand, tears flowing from burning crimson eyes, seed and blood intertwined, I offer my soul up to you and only you.

**The Love Letters of Naraku #13** (prompt: "On My Own")

Can it be that all is in vain? My mind misgives. Shall I return to who I was before I gazed upon you and knew you were my destiny? I am Naraku, demon of demons, hell itself burns in my eyes! See me! O, when did I come to such a state, questioning myself and my destiny, pouring words onto scroll to one who reached higher than all others in my esteem, my admiration, my need. Am I to be ever alone, too great to suffer the affections of lesser beings yet invisible to the one whom I would worship?

**The Love Letters of Naraku #14** (prompt: "Point of No Return")

Was last night a dream, or did I truly lie at your feet, caressing their delicate arches, pressing my lips to toe and ankle? Did you suffer my presence, scarcely speaking to me, hardly acknowledging my existence until you reached down a slender hand and marked me with poisoned claws? Now, once more alone, my fingers trace and caress the festering wound that will become a scar I will bear so proudly. And I will return to you, again and again, for more. Abuse and destroy me, let me but worship. No, there is no turning back: I am yours.

**...and that's all he wrote!**


	21. Violation

Author's Note: Thanks to Kira for the idea of Naraku the artiste, and for requesting more of this series! Crossposted to LJ's Hentai-Contest for its Leather & Lace prompt.

**Violation**

Naraku chuckled to himself, low and menacing, giving a thrill to his own ears and a shiver through his every sinew and tentacle. He hunched before his computer, moving the mouse to draw the lovely lines of a woman's pale thigh on a pirated copy of Photoshop. Her legs were spread so wide, covered only with delicate lace. So delicious! He used a premade image for the lace, of course, though he would not admit it when he posted it to the online site, deliciously known as deviantArt. Beside the reclining beauty (who looked remarkably like Kikyou), her twin was roughly sketched, equally lush and feminine but with less precision in perspective than he liked. Still, there was no less perverseness for his limitations in skill, and there were his followers who delighted at each new yuri masterpiece he put up. The second girl crouched in leather chaps (and nothing else), showing her round, shining behind as she shoved an enormous, shiny black dildo into her partner. Such blushing cheeks! Such daintily parted lips, crying out in pleasure and pain! Naraku took his hentai seriously, and he created it with wicked if amateur flourish. Always the same two girls he drew, with their lush black hair and enormous breasts. How their pert pink nipples shone with just the touch of white highlight on the tips! He echoed the highlight next in their dark, shining eyes. Ah, this piece truly was a gem.

As he filled in the pink of Kagome's—or rather the second girl's—mouth, he jumped as a chime on his computer indicated a new email message. He switched over from Photoshop to Firefox and retrieved the new mail. Instantly, his nostrils flared and his eyes burned! Not again! DeviantArt had once more banned him for graphic sexual portrayals that violated their terms of service. And this time he was banned not only by account and email but by IP! Damn it! He knew the idiots who ran the site were as male and perverted as he, so it must, once again, be his detractors, those feminazis who were always on the lookout for the telltale style, the touches of blood between the thighs, the undead look in Kikyou's—the first girl's—eyes! His signature flourish! He would not yield to this Puritanical oppression! This was ART!

With a grumble and a growl, he opened Yahoo Messenger and dropped a line to ecchi_monk1:

_Hey, Miroku, stop playing WoW for a minute, you giant nerd! I need you to show me how to fake a new IP address! dA banned me again!_


	22. The Lord Takes Tea

A/N: Another reincarnation, this time with a theme of vengeance. Clearly, I've been reading too much Agatha Christie lately.

The Lord Takes Tea

Lord Narathorn sipped the fragrant black tea without pleasure from the white china cup. As always, he left it unsweetened and with neither cream nor lemon. There was a way tea should be drunk, his aging mind told him, and this was not it. Finger sandwiches and frosted cake lamely beckoned from the silver dish, the smell of fishpaste warring with that of strawberry jam. He picked up a slender, wilted triangle then put it back down with a sigh. No, it would not do. And, as has plagued him since his youth, he could not say precisely why. Noting a pricking in his thumb, he stared at it, searching the edges of his consciousness for that ever-elusive hint of awareness that told him he was not who he seemed to be. The cuckoo clock on the wall struck four, and its "ku-ku-ku-ku" resonated hollowly within his mind.

"Oh, Sir," complained the cheerful little parlor maid when she came to collect the scarcely touched tea things. "You really must try to eat something." She did make such a fuss, but it was nice to have a pretty young girl about the house again. She brightened things up even as she made her absurd little scolding sounds over his lack of appetite. "At least finish your tea," she commanded, holding out the cup.

Without truly knowing why, the aging Lord obeyed. As their fingers brushed, he felt a little shiver of electricity run through him. His mind flew back nearly twenty years to that other dark-haired maid, so somber and lovely and obedient. He'd taken her virtue and not thought a thing of it. Rather enjoyed himself, in fact. He frowned and blinked his almond eyes. Now, what was her name? Something with a K. Katherine, most likely. They called her "Kit." A sweet little kitten she was too, even if she withheld her purr more than he'd have liked. He'd sent her away when she was found with-child, and no one ever suspected it was his. Of course not. Wise girl to hold her tongue. He missed those days, to be sure.

Coming back to the present with a start as the maid who was not Kit cleared her throat, he turned his heavy-lidded gaze upon her and asked, "What's your name, girl?"

"Kaitlin, my lord," she answered calmly, and Lord Narathorn had the feeling he'd asked the question one too many times in recent days.

"Mind not what it used to be," he mumbled, drinking down the last of his cooling tea with a frown. Again he had that strange feeling of not-belonging, and he remembered a nonsense dream he'd had the night before. A great black beast with lashing tentacles; demonic possession; creatures with white manes who were half-dog and half-man; the smell of cherry blossom and almonds… Almonds? Suddenly it was no dream, the scent of almonds flooding his nostrils as his throat constricted. Searing pain tore through his body, and he reached out an arm to grab the maid for help and crashed to the floor.

Miss Kaitlin Higman took a small, firm step out of reach and watched the death throes before her dispassionately. The vile lord writhed on the floor like the loathsome beast he was. A few strangled gurgles burbled up from his twisted body, and then he lay still. She breathed more freely as he breathed his last, her gaze proud and defiant.

It was done. Her poor wronged mother, who died in childbirth, was at last avenged. Grabbing her suitcase from the hall, she quickly and quietly left the manor, followed only by the sound of the wind and the barking of the Lord's lonely hounds.

/lj-cut


	23. Just a Spider

Note: This does not fit the "modern times" focus, but I thought it could belong here as a precursor to all the stuff I put Naraku through. What was Onigumo's childhood like, I asked myself, and here is a brief answer, written originally for LJ comm IyIssekiwa's "Crush" prompt (250 word limit). I'm rather fond of this fic and hope readers like it.

**Just a Spider**

"No!" shouted the panicked boy, running toward the little circle of village children in the dirt road. His arms were spread, his hands clutching. His bare feet slapped dryly in the dirt as his vision blurred with tears.

Several boys turned, balling their hands into readiness. A little girl and boy took hands and ran. Others rolled their eyes or ignored the frantic approach entirely. It was just crazy Onigumo.

He reached the circle and pulled one of the smaller boys away before a meaty fist pushed him hard into the dirt. "No!" he cried in impotent fury. They mustn't, they just musn't! He couldn't say why it hurt him so. But it did. Every time. And he could never stop it. Not even once. Onigumo put his face into his hands in pain and confusion and sobbed.

"It's just a nasty spider," grunted a grubby girl over her shoulder, feeling a touch of guilt at the wild tears of the strange boy. When he didn't respond, she turned back into the circle where the wriggling legs of the creature were crushed firmly into the earth under a friend's foot. How easy it was to kill them. And, after all, it was just a spider, she thought with a shrug. Nothing to cry about.


	24. Curing Kagome

Note: Written for iyissekiwa's "short" prompt with a 250-word max.**  
**

**Curing Kagome**

Hojo weighed the root and twine talisman in his palm. He frowned. Its high cost and rank odor concerned him less than the doubtful effectiveness of its promises. Higurashi-san had finally returned to school after long absence due to what her grandfather said was a rare hybrid of measles and mumps, but she was still distant and distracted. He longed to be her rescuer with all the ardor his mild demeanor allowed, and so he had come to the marketplace, to the stall of exotica that compelled him with its promises of mystical healing.

The wrinkled old woman rose from her stool, barely taller when she stood than when sitting. "I see your need, young man," she croaked, her breath a stale accompaniment to the stench of the talisman. "I have what your beloved requires." From inside her moldering cloak she pulled a vial of gray-green liquid. "This will cure your beloved of all her worldly woes."

Hojo gaped. How could she know about Kagome? He clasped the vial, paid her fee, and took off on his bike. He would not come up short this time!

The crone's eyes glowed red as she watched the fool go. Naraku had waited countless lives to be reborn here and now: his native land, self-awareness and power in tact, the exact era of the reincarnated miko-bitch. In the boy he found the perfect tool for revenge. His tentacles writhed with delight beneath his loose garments. He would not come up short this time!


	25. The Nail Girl by Kira

6 July 2011

Note: I bring you GUEST FIC! FFnet's fabulous **Kirayasha aka Kira **asked if she could "borrow" Naraku from this fic collection and reincarnate and torment him a little herself. I cheered her on and, with her blessing, am including her little ficlet here. She has crossposted it at LJ comm Fanfic Bakeoff. Thanks, Kira for the fabulous incarnation!

**The Nail Girl**

**by Kira**

Naraku smiled as the woman pressed a few dollars in his hand, before she left. As he got up to prepare for the next customer in the busy nail salon, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirrored wall. A pretty Korean girl gazed back at him this time. As far as incarnations go, this one was strangely not too bad. _Maybe this time I won't be a loser…_

"Foolish girl!" his boss yelled in Korean. "Get to work!"

"Yes, ma'am," he said softly. _Then again, two thousand eleven is turning out to be just as bad as nineteen eleven…I guess a sweatshop is a sweatshop despite tips and air-conditioning…_

It was just another boring day, when _she_walked in for her two o'clock pedicure. And as luck would have it, she was his next customer! Naraku was beside himself with inner joy at the thought of playing with her dainty feet.

The Lady of West came over at sat down at Naraku's station, no hint of recognition in her sparkling amber eyes. Slipping her Gucci sandals off, she put her feet up and Naraku set to work with trembling hands. First he removed the bright red nail polish, before setting her feet to soak in a tub of warm soapy water, while he went to get the bottle of her favorite polish, _Scarlet Temptress._

Upon his return, he dried her feet off. While he massaged the Lady's tired foot, he was overcome with a sudden urge to suck her toes, and before he knew it, he was actually sucking her dainty digits! That's when all hell broke lose and the next thing he knew he was being arrested for assault. Smiling at his reflection as he was led away in handcuffs, Naraku was extremely happy for a change…


End file.
